


Stories of Sweaters

by Fishwrites, lynneh



Series: Batteries Verse [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Babies, Childhood, Empath, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Kid Fic, Parenthood, Past Tense, Prequel, Telepathy, Toddlers, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishwrites/pseuds/Fishwrites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynneh/pseuds/lynneh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Psionics were fairly rare; but the Xaviers had a predilection for producing telepaths and empaths. And despite there not having been a telepath-proper in the family for two generations, both Brian and Sharon knew there was a chance that their baby could take after his papa.</p><p>A series of stories detailing Charles' baby and toddlerhood. Takes place before the events of 'This Family Comes with Batteries.' In which Brian Xavier is an empath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stories of Sweaters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [E_Coli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Coli/gifts).



:i:

 _“Always kiss your children goodnight,_  
_even if they’re already asleep.”_  
– Jackson Brown jr.

:i:

It had been almost three years since he last visited the house in Westchester – it had been too far removed from everything to be a convenience, and it was a big house to maintain with only two people. But Brian knew, as soon as the baby was in his arms; they couldn’t stay in the middle of the city. Perhaps when Charles (and even the thought of the name made him warm with affection) was older, and learnt to shield.

But the city was a stressful place for any level empath, let alone one who manifested at birth.

And it was still shocking, even one week later, how _strongly_ his baby could project already. Even now, sitting in the quiet of the car, Charles was happily mirroring Brian’s own emotions back at him, punctuated by vague pops of coloured curiosity as the scenery rolled by the window. It was jarring, that first time in the hospital, but the feedback loop was surprisingly easy to get used to.

“Because you’re happy, aren’t you,” said Brian, smiling as Charles grabbed his thumb with both hands, “Who’s a happy baby? Charlie? Who’s happy? Yeah, you and me both, buddy.”

A burst of bright yellow glee as Charlie managed to pull Brian’s hand over far enough to suck on his thumb with a feeling of unadulterated enthusiasm that only babies could manage to feel. Brian could barely look away for a moment; his mental shields utterly discarded so he could give Charlie his undivided attention. His son had emotions that rang like a bell, clear and pure and simple – and Brian thought he had never felt anything so lovely.

Beside him, Sharon stirred from her nap. She blinked, then yawned into her hand. In Brian’s arms, Charles mimicked her, yawning wide. Brian took the opportunity to dry his thumb on the baby bib, before giving Sharon a kiss on the cheek.

“Welcome back,” he said, “We’re nearly there I think.”

“Is he hungry?” she asked, reaching for Charles. Brian passed him over, and watched as Sharon smoothed Charlie’s wispy hair back from his forehead, resting him on her breast. Distracted by the gold buttons on her shirt, Charles plucked at them with one chubby hand. Then he yawned again, turning and burying his face into the shirt.

“No,” said Brian, “Not even peckish. Been a bit sleepy while you were napping though.”

“I just want to get to bed and not get up for a year,” she said, but smiled all the same.

“Buh!” said Charlie, making Brian jump out of his skin because Charles had been an exceptionally quiet baby, no tears and no wailing and Jesus Christ –

The surprise prompted Charles to burst into a peal of laughter; he couldn’t understand why Brian was surprised but he liked the emotion and was turning it round and round, projecting it like a child throwing a pebble into the water.

“Oh sweetie, you’re so easily entertained,” said Sharon, shifting Charles higher in her arms and kissing him on the nose. Charles squealed with delight. “Look at him, Bri. Bri - ? Oh my god, are you crying?”

 

By the time the car pulled up outside the front steps, around the fountain to the crunch-crunch of gravel, it was nearly dark. The last rays of sunlight spilled shadows long and dark over the recently manicured lawns, and the air was heavy with summer grass when Brian opened the door. Charles immediately strained towards edge of the seat, and Sharon passed him over before getting out of the car, stretching with relief.

Charles sneezed over Brian’s shoulder.

“Oops!” said Brian, patting Charlie on the back, “Are you chilly? Sharon can you pass his blanket? I think it’s on the back seat.”

“Buh buh,” Charles said again, gumming down on Brian’s collar. Sharon passed the baby blanket – a hand knitted thing made from clouds and the tears of alpacas (at least that was what Brian assumed, considering it cost so much) – and Brian wrapped it around Charles’ shoulders.

The butler rounded the front of the car, already carrying their bags.

“I rang ahead to tell Ms. Pendergast that you would be arriving before dinnertime,” he said, unlocking the front door and letting them all in, “The master bedroom has been aired and I believe the nursery should be properly warmed by now.”

“Thank you, George,” said Sharon, “Though we’ll take dinner in the bedroom I think.”

George glanced at Brian, who shrugged.

“Yeah, we’ll get Charlie settled first. He doesn’t like it when he can’t see us. Aye, Charlie?”

Charles smiled, eyes screwing up until they were only half-moons. The warm weight of him was like a stone, burning hot and steady in Brian’s chest.

“Of course,” said George, expression softening.

 

:i:

The nursery had been painted soft baby blue with a canary yellow ceiling dotted with flowers, birds and plastic hanging animals. There were large squashy pillows and beanbags, as well as a stack of round-edged building blocks and a touch-screen entertainment board mounted into the wall next to a small shelf of books.

Sharon went ahead to the bedroom, but Brian paused in the doorway of the nursery with Charles bright eyed in the crook of his arm. He pushed the door open further with one foot.

“Look,” he said quietly, nudging Charles to turn around, “This is your room. Isn’t it nice? Do you like the colours?”

Charles pointed at the animals, and made grabbing motions with the hand that wasn’t fisted in Brian’s shirt.

“Ducks,” said Brian, “Those are ducks. Here, here’s one.” He grabbed a matching stuffed-duck plushie off the top of the bookshelf and wiggled it in front of Charles, whose attention was immediately diverted from the ceiling animals to the stuffed toy. The duck was bright yellow, with a brown bill and soft thread-sewn eyes. Charles grabbed it with both hands, eyes round – then hugged it close with a gurgle, making Brian laugh. The duck made a quacking sound, and Charles’ surprise was like an exclamation mark as he stared at the duck in his hands. Brian made an exaggerated face of confusion.

“What was that, Charlie? Was that Duckie? Was it? Who made that sound?”

Charles looked from the duck to Brian and back again. Then he squashed the duck against his own chest, eliciting another electronic quack. Then he did it again. And again.

Brian found himself grinning so hard his face was starting to hurt. He kissed Charlie on the top of his head instead, while the duck quacked over and over.

“Let’s go find mommy okay? You’re sleeping with us for now.”

“Buh!” said Charles, and bit the duck on the bottom.

“Quaaack,” said the duck.

By the third evening home, Brian was beginning to discover the various downsides to having an empathic baby: the biggest issue being that Charlie never seemed to fall asleep on his own.

It was three in the morning. Charles was still projecting fuzzy versions of Brian’s own exhausted thoughts back at him, from the countless sheep that had been counted to the oh-so-interesting shapes the moonlight was casting through the curtains. The sensation of it was akin to a radio rattling in the background of your head, just loud enough to make its presence felt. It was as if Charles could not fall asleep until Brian did so, but Brian couldn’t fall asleep until Charles’ bubble-bright presence had dimmed either. Like two mirrors bouncing light off eachother, father and son lay awake in the wee hours of morning. It was a wonder that Charles hadn't started bawling - Brian certainly felt on the verge of frustrated tears of exhausted fatherhood. And it was only the third night. _Fuck._

This, Brian decided, was the worst paradox ever. He wondered if every psionic parent had this problem, or whether it only existed with psionic babies.

He looked over at the baby crib next to the bed.

Feeling the attention, Charles wriggled in his blankets until he was facing Brian with bright awake eyes. He blinked, the very picture of innocence. Beside him sat the vividly yellow duck toy. And even though Charles had only had his Duckie for a bare few hours, it was already looking very well drooled on.

“Oh god,” Brian muttered, smashing his face back into his own pillow.

 _?????_ from Charles.

Beside him on the bed, Sharon was blissfully asleep, having finally succumbed to exhaustion at about one in the morning. Her hair fanned out on the pillow in golden curls that Charlie hadn't inherited, which was a pity. But he got her eyelashes, and her pointed chin. Brian pulled the blanket up over her shoulders before sitting up properly on the bed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of one hand. In the cot, Charles made gurgling noises, and kicked his blanket with onesie-clad feet.

“Charlie,” said Brian, sighing and getting up, “Charlie, Charlie. Why aren’t you asleep. I’m tired. You’re tired. We’re both tired. Come on.”

Charles held out his arms, straight up in the air. Precocious. Precocious and _awake_. Brian rubbed a hand over his own face in resignation before leaning into the cot to pick him up. He was instantly rewarded with a wave of satisfaction that tingled all the way to his toes and fingertips.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you like your cuddles. But we need to go to sleep before papa keels over.”

Charles only looked back at him with big blue eyes. Brian tried rocking him slowly – but the motion only made Charles perk up with pleasure instead. He sighed, slowly returning to the bed with Charles in his arms and settling back against his pillow and the headboard.

“If I take sleeping pills, will you fall asleep with me?” he asked, patting Charles absently on the tummy. He allowed his hand to be snagged by curious fingers and shifted until he was more comfortable, pulling the blanket to cover his legs.

“Maybe I’ll try that tomorrow,” said Brian, “Aye? Then we should both zonk out. Zonk right out.”

Charles responded by sucking on Brian’s index finger with fervour. Brian yawned, shifting Charles further up so that his head was resting over Brian’s heart, a warm, anchoring weight in his arms. Absently, Brian began to hum, quiet and low in his throat as Charles knead his hand with two tiny fists. 

_“Goodnight my angel, time to close your eyes…and save these questions for another day.”_

Charles was tired, a sleepy sort of contentment with exhaustion trimming the edges. Brian tried his best to project his own exhaustion as loudly as he could, the heavy drag of it making Charles’ eyes droop slowly, slowly, closed. The wooden headboard was becoming uncomfortable against his shoulder-blades, cool through his nightshirt - but Charles was very warm against his chest. Brian's own voice felt dry and scratchy. But the baby seemed to like the vibration of his singing, turning his small face into Brian’s chest with the low notes of the lullaby.

 _“I promise I will never leave you,”_ he hummed, _“And you should always know…wherever you may go, no matter where you are, I will never be far away.”_

Charles yawned, releasing Brian’s hand in favour of drooling more effectively into his t-shirt. His eyes were closed now; lashes dark shadows on his little cheeks as his breathing slowly evened out to match Brian’s own. He felt like a song being played to a metronome, the tune gently falling into sync like a cadence coming home after a long day wandering lost.

 _“Goodnight my angel, now it’s time to dream,”_ he sang, so quietly Brian wasn’t sure if it could be heard beyond the confines of his heart. _“A dream how wonderful your life will be._

_Someday we’ll all be gone…but lullabies go on and on.  
They never die, and that’s how you and I will be.”_

:i:

For the lullaby: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6wYtgTgM8ws>

**Author's Note:**

> Our headcanon is that although you (e.g. hospital/doctors) can tell if a baby is a mutant, it is difficult to ascertain the exact mutation. (a) most manifest/develop at puberty, and the nature of psionics means that they don't fully develop at birth. Hence Bri thinks Charles is an empath like him, at this point.
> 
> i'm aware that this Brian Xavier is very different to the comic book canon. Lyn and I have decided that Hugh Dancy is our Brian Xavier and he plays a very different character in this verse than maybe what has been done in the fandom previously. I hope you guys still enjoy it though! :) - and yes, the empath mutation is a shout out to Hannibal's 'pure empathy' thingie for Will. <3


End file.
